Where Are You?
by MissZatanna
Summary: "You're dead. I buried you. You're gone. So please just one more thing. Stop being dead." A series of letters from John to Sherlock after the jump. Post season 3.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: I had these lying around for an extra credit assignment I had to do last year. Thought I'd post them just for fun. Reviews are always appreciated if you can(: Enjoy!

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><p>Dear Sherlock,<p>

Where are you? This is ridiculous, me leaving notes on this headstone in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, the headstone isn't even nice. Well, it is, but I know that you'd be complaining about how it should be nicer. It's a stupid question: "Where are you?" You're dead. I saw you jump. I saw the people carry your body to hospital. I went to your funeral. I buried you. You're gone. So please just one more thing. Stop being dead.

I met this girl. Her name is Mary. She's blonde, not stupid, incredibly smart actually. Where did that come from? The notion that blondes are dumb. Who thought of that?

Mrs. Hudson won't come upstairs. She can't stand the sight of that empty leather chair. _Your _empty leather chair. It's collecting dust as we speak. You'd like to know that Anderson's gone mad. He keeps making up theories that you're still alive, and if you were, how you did it. They're anything but succinct as he drones on and on. Even Lestrade has lost his bravado. We're all falling apart without you. Where are you?

John


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Sherlock,

I think I really like Mary. She makes me forget, which makes me feel better. Your absence is not forgotten though. We all miss your violin sending music throughout the flat. Even if it is sometimes incredibly annoying and obnoxiously ongoing. At times I even long to hear your ridiculous reasonings for such irrelevant things. But 221 Baker Street feels foreign. It's anything but placid.

I feel tired, Sherlock, like butter spread thin over too much bread. We all do. Lestrade hasn't had a decent case in weeks. He misses you too. Anderson hasn't stopped, and strangely, it's getting more difficult to not believe it. Things don't make sense without you, just as much as they didn't_with_ you. Please come home.

John


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: I was thinking about uploading this in intervals but I already have the entire thing typed out so I may as well publish it all at once, right?

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><p>Dear Sherlock,<p>

It's been almost one year since the jump. I suppose you're not coming home after all.

These letters keep disappearing from your grave. I come back a few weeks later and they're gone. Perhaps they've blown away. But that means someone must have removed the rock I set on the papers every time as a makeshift paperweight. Someone must be curious.

I've moved in with Mary. I couldn't stay in the flat on Baker Street any longer. The squalid space had been blanketed by dust and silence. A horrible combination, really. I think I might love her, Sherlock. Now that's a scary thought, isn't it? Affection has never been either of our expertise.

My therapist says it's time to move on. She says I have to grieve but that my grieving has lasted much longer than recommended. That's called depression, isn't it? Don't worry, though, I won't forget you. Sometimes I forget that you're dead, that you jumped and cracked your head on the pavement. Then it hits me like a bag of bricks and I can't breathe. The feeling is evanescent; I can't move on. I don't want to.

John


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Sherlock,

I'm going to ask her to be my wife. She makes me feel whole, Sherlock. She fills the empty void you left behind. I think you'd like her. She's quite blatant, Mary is. She doesn't play mind games like most women. She doesn't give the silent treatment either. When something is wrong she tells me upfront. I like that.

If you were here, I'd ask you to be my best man. You're my best friend. You're mad and a complete sociopath, but you're my best friend. You're also a pompous jerk most times. Luckily, I've known you long enough to look past that.

So come home, Sherlock. Be at my wedding. Be my best man. Where are you?

John


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Sherlock,

It's time. It's time to let you go. I'm getting married today, Sherlock. We've had our good times, you and me, but you're gone now. You've been gone for a while.

I remember your eulogy perfectly. I sat there thinking for hours. How could I begin to describe the great Sherlock Holmes, the man who knew it all? When I first met you, Lestrade had told me that you were a great man. And maybe some day, you might even be a good one.

You, you brilliant man, have changed my life. You have given me the adventure of a lifetime. But now it's time to find my own way, make my own path. Thank you, you brilliant man.


End file.
